


the moment i wake up

by wildcard_47



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Tumblr Prompt, wedding au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from <b>cchristina-hendricks</b>, who asked me to write a Joan/Peggy fake relationship AU. It can also be considered a meeting-at-a-wedding or modern day AU.</p><p>"Joan declined the last guy—who was persistent and annoying—with a playful tilt of her head, murmuring something about <i>my girlfriend</i> as she took Peggy by the hand, threaded their fingers together, and gave him a sunny smile."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the moment i wake up

All in all, it was a terrible wedding.

Okay. Well, sure, it was fine for the bride and groom. No ripped veils at the eleventh hour, no visibly drunk groomsmen, no flower girls or ring bearers crying as they walked down the aisle. The new Mr. and Mrs. Haywood got up in front of their friends and family and proclaimed their deep, undying love for each other.

Peggy, on the other hand, had spent ten minutes—she counted—listening to the minister talk about a handful of the other pathetic men Carol had dated before she found Matthew. And unfortunately for Carol, and probably for womankind as a whole, one of those pathetic losers had once found his way into Peggy's bed, too. Because there can't be many men out there with what the minister had called—in his meek, joking voice— “strong opinions about one Mrs. Betsy Ross.”

(He'd wanted Peggy to put on a petticoat and pretend to sew up the flag. She'd...been drunk. In retrospect, she still blames Joyce for a lot of things about that Halloween.)

Currently sitting alone at her table in the middle of the lavish yet quiet reception—the bridal party was still taking pictures at the church, so most of the guests hadn't arrived—Peggy rested her elbows on the table and pondered her empty wine glass, twirling it around and around by the stem with her finger and thumb. Maybe she'd go home after they served dinner. Unless she was going to get more wine, in which case she could probably stay until they cut the cake. Should she drink more now and hope it got her through the reception? Or wait until later, when all the stupid traditions would kick in?

She didn't have time to decide before she was interrupted.

“You're going to break that, you know.”

A red-headed woman in a body-hugging sapphire blue dress had appeared three seats down to Peggy's right, standing behind a chair fishing through something hidden in the seat. It was her purse, Peggy realized. There had been a sleek leather purse in that chair.

“Probably,” she said, and sat upright with a little sigh. She wasn't tipsy enough to be noticeably depressing, not in front of strangers, anyway.

The woman raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking up and down Peggy's sloppy yellow blouse-and-black pants outfit. “You're not drunk, are you?”

“No,” said Peggy, with the kind of sigh that said she wished otherwise. “Are you?”

The woman actually laughed. Peggy waved a dismissive hand, and decided to keep talking. “Honestly. Would you go to a wedding if you knew half the ceremony was going to be about your ex lover?”

This earned her a surprised look from over the top of Redhead's gold compact. She was dabbing a little translucent powder on her t-zone. “You mean...?”

“Oh,” said Peggy, pulling a face. “God, no, not Matthew. Gross.” After a pause, she decided to be fair. “And not Carol, either—I mean, she's fine, but she's not exactly my—type. Anyway. It was not the bride or the groom.” She paused, sighing again. Why was she being so awkward? “Sorry. I'm babbling.”

The red-headed woman didn't make a run for it, but instead put away her powder, and came closer, holding out a hand for Peggy to shake. “I didn't catch your name.”

**

Half an hour later, Peggy and her new acquaintance Joan were people-watching, with two fresh drinks in front of them and a couple of very attentive waiters hovering close by with full trays of hors d'oeurves. One of the true benefits of not sitting alone, Peggy thought privately, was having people start to offer her food again. Servers never come up to you if you're standing by yourself.

“Oh!” She pointed to a paunchy man in a light gray suit whose three fullest locks of hair were arranged across the top of his shiny head in a greasy comb-over. “Okay. So do we think he's gonna be the guy who goes around clinking glasses with his fork, yelling _kiss!_ , or the one who tries to interrupt the best man's toast with terrible jokes?”

“Glasses,” said Joan after a pause of several seconds, as the man in question signed the bridal guest book with a braying laugh and a flourish.

Peggy laughed. That was her guess, too. “Is it the hair, do you think?”

Joan smirked as she put down her wine. Peggy couldn't help noticing how the woman's dark red lipstick wasn't even smudged, and envied that kind of talent with makeup. She could barely put on chap stick without messing it up. Maybe Joan had some secret cosmetics tip. She seemed like the type.

“No, it's the forehead,” Joan said finally, and indicated something like _sweaty_ with an open-palmed gesture to her perfectly set face. “He's so wound up he looks like he's in the steam room.”

Peggy laughed so hard she choked on a mushroom cap.

**

Music was blaring from a set of large speakers framing the DJ booth in the left hand corner of the ballroom, while waiters in black jackets and ties were now picking through the tables with trays balanced in their hands—champagne glasses for the upcoming toasts. At their corner table, now surrounded by distant relatives and a group of girls who she assumed were a few of Carol's college friends, Peggy and Joan were still deep in conversation. Or rather, Peggy was gaping at her new friend with something like awe, while Joan just smirked, and swallowed another bite of her salmon.

“It's fun,” she said lightly, with a lift of one eyebrow, as if daring Peggy to contradict her.

“I can barely do my taxes,” Peggy said, briefly touching the other woman's forearm as she tried to make a joke. “And you're a finance professor. Jesus. That's...awesome.”

“Well, you're a writer,” Joan counters, bolting one shoulder in a shrug. “I couldn't come up with a piece of fiction if you pointed a gun to my head.”

“Are you kidding?” Peggy couldn't help but tease the other woman. “You probably have the best stories. Men must go out of their minds when they meet you.”

The redhead's mouth pursed as if she was trying to hide a smile. “Peggy.” Her voice had a wry quality. “My boyfriend and I broke up three days ago. I'm just like every other woman in New York.”

“Oh,” Peggy tried not to sound as stunned as she felt. Someone was stupid enough to think he could do better than _Joan?_ Men were morons. “Well—he's an asshole. I hope you dumped him.”

Joan's smile was sly, yet vicious. “I did.”

**

After the dreaded bouquet and garter toss, Joan and Peggy danced to a few of the fast songs with Carol's college friends—girls Joan was supposed to know from school but didn't actually remember, she confessed in a whisper. After that, the DJ put on back-to-back slow songs, and most of the single women were forced to flee the dance floor.

Joan, on the other hand, had two groomsmen ask her to dance. She declined the last guy—who was persistent and annoying—with a playful tilt of her head, murmuring something about _my girlfriend_ as she took Peggy by the hand, threaded their fingers together, and gave him a sunny smile.

Well, shit.

Peggy couldn't begrudge any woman for doing what she had to do to avoid some creeps, but god, once the words were in the air, she couldn't help but think about it. Being Joan's girlfriend—they'd get to whisper and giggle to each other for the rest of the night, drinking wine and sneaking cake off each other's plates, and going home to some tastefully-decorated condo once the reception was over. The radio would play low in the car as they drove home, streetlights beside the highway zipping past their windows in a blur. She thought about how the other woman had moved so gracefully to the music, just like she'd noticed how the men around them kept sneaking glances at Joan's full breasts and generous hips, and the way their eyes lingered on her red-lipsticked mouth.

They'd fall into bed with the lights still on, everything sweet and familiar. Joan would straddle Peggy's hips while pulling her own slip over her head—fabric rustling as it whispered through the air—and then she'd untie the bow on Peggy's blouse, making some little joke as she did it. _This thing belongs on the floor._

 _Shut up,_ Peggy would say with a laugh, her palms skating over Joan's creamy skin, pulling her down for a deep kiss—

“Thanks for not ratting me out,” Joan said once the creepy guy had finally excused himself and was out of earshot, whispering into Peggy's ear. “I owe you a drink.”

Peggy felt like her head was swimming, and tried not to draw attention to herself, but the other woman didn't seem to notice. She let go of Peggy's hand, but kept leaning in to whisper new observations, especially once they caught a prolonged glimpse of the bride and groom, swaying together among the other couples, mid-cheesy fifties love song.

“You're right, by the way.”

“Really?” Peggy had trouble keeping track of their conversation. “About what?”

“The ceremony,” Joan replied, pulling back to frown at Peggy as if it should have been obvious. “And exes. It can be awkward.”

She cast a significant glance toward the bridal pair.

“Oh,” Peggy said, then frowned, still confused. “Wait—did the—did the groom hit on you, or something?” She wouldn't put it past Matthew to be an idiot when he was drunk. Carol had always had horrible taste in men.

Noticing how pink Joan's cheeks had gotten, Peggy's mouth dropped open in surprise, and she almost forgot to whisper. “ _Noooo_. He didn't!”

Joan shook her head, and her mouth quirked into a smile, just as soft strings faded into some 70s funk Peggy didn't recognize. “He didn't. And it wasn't tonight.”

It took a second for the implications to sink in, but when the truth finally dawned, Peggy had to put a hand over her mouth to muffle her shriek of laughter. Twenty feet away, Carol and Matthew were oblivious, gleeful with too much champagne, flailing around like idiots on speed.

“ _She_ hit on you,” Peggy said, in a kind of awed, hushed voice, still fighting the urge to burst out giggling. “Jesus—she's—not even in your league. You're too gorgeous for her. She's like— _a troll_ by comparison!”

“Oh, really?” Joan asked, but she was laughing. “Did you write that in her wedding card?”

Peggy couldn't get over it. “Did you guys date? No—was it like a college thing? When _was_ this?”

Joan laughed even harder.

**

Now standing by the sinks in the ladies' room, Peggy continued to think out loud, as Joan fished a single paper towel out from the old-fashioned metal dispenser.

“Okay, I have to ask. Did she just, like, word vomit all over you one afternoon? Did she try to seduce you? I just can't believe it!”

“Obviously,” said Joan, with a roll of her eyes. Peggy didn't let that bother her. Joan seemed like the type who'd pretend to be frustrated with people. If she really didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't be here right now. She'd just make some excuse—or tell Peggy to stop—and that would be it.

“Did she just ask you out, or—make some big speech, or—”

“Would you like a written statement, Officer?” asked the other woman, her tone turning sharper.

“Sorry,” mumbled Peggy, not sure if Joan was offended. But she was still curious.

**

Everyone was filing outside into the parking lot to light sparklers in the summer dusk. The gesture was supposed to send off Matthew and Carol to their honeymoon in style. Par for the course, Joan and Peggy lagged behind, unlit sparklers dangling from their fingers like long cigarette holders as they walked through what passed for the hotel's back garden. It was a room-sized courtyard a hundred yards off one of the main sidewalks, with a few trees, some patio furniture, and a cobble-stoned path. Nothing special.

“You're making it sound very dramatic,” said Joan with a small sigh, speaking quietly but in a nonchalant way, as if people declared their undying love to her on a regular basis. “She told me she had...very strong feelings for me. I didn't feel the same way. That's it.”

“Seriously?” Peggy asked, releasing a heavy sigh and coming to a stop next to a couple of rosebushes. “That's it? Ugh.”

“What?” Joan asked, giving her a bemused look.

“No, it's—just—come on. If I were Carol and I was gonna admit that I _liked_ you, I wouldn't just...blurt out a stupid cli—cliche.” Oh, god, she must be drunk if she can't even say that word. She was an English major, for god's sake. “I'd be direct, you know?”

“Would you?” That raised eyebrow was a clear challenge.

“Obviously _,_ ” Peggy retorted, spreading her hands in a shrug. “Just—none of that timid shit. I'd—come up to you and be like—she put on a firm voice—'Joan, you are awesome, and I like you, and I want to—make out with...your face.'”

She wrinkled her nose as the words registered fully in her mind. Wow. That was awful.

Joan let out an amused breath. “And you write for a living?”

“'M off the clock,” Peggy mumbled, feeling embarrassed, but despite the awkwardness she couldn't make herself look away from the other woman's face. Joan held her gaze for a moment, head tilted slightly as if considering something, then leaned in without warning and pressed her lips to Peggy's. It was so chaste it was barely even a kiss—Peggy barely had time to close her eyes—but the thrill it sent into her stomach was so sharp it was almost visceral.

_Holy shit._

“I—” she sputtered as Joan pulled away, then blinked, grabbed the other woman by the waist, and just went for it. When they came up for air this time, Peggy was pretty breathless. Joan's eyes had darkened to the same color as her dress, and her immaculate red lipstick was more than a little smeared.

God, it was so hot.

“Something like that?” Joan murmured, voice low and playful, her blue eyes flicking down to study Peggy's body—and _Jesus_ , that was sexy. Peggy felt her heart speed up in her chest. Her hands rested on the curve of Joan's waist; palms pressed into the slick fabric of the other woman's dress. In the distance, above the babble of excited conversation in the parking lot, she could hear the low buzzing noise of sparklers sizzling to life.

“Peggy?” Joan asked, her smile equal parts teasing and concerned. “Thoughts?”

“Yeah,” Peggy breathed, feeling like she couldn't believe her luck. “We gotta do that again.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title and conceit taken from [a key scene](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g8mK6W3OMpo) in the movie "My Best Friend's Wedding," which I always loved as a kid. Obviously Joan is the perfect snarky wedding date, while Peggy will always be our weird and bitter Julia Roberts. Only minus the close relationship to anyone involved in the actual ceremony.


End file.
